Between Four Walls
by comicbooklovergreen
Summary: She spent three years in a mental hospital for speaking the truth. Glimpses of Sarah's time at Pescadero, leading up to the moment she gave up being a mother. Mentions of rape, be warned.


**Author's Note: **So I've been wanting to write something related to 'The Demon Hand' for a couple of years now. I never imagined writing this particular story, but it's what my muse felt like doing after I last watched the episode. For me, the events we don't see in the movies or on the series are the most interesting to read/write about. Anyways, I wrote this kind of fast, as a way of saying goodbye to my too-short Spring Break, so be kind in your reviews. Be constructive too, just don't set out to crucify me, all right? That said, please do take a second to review. Like every author on this site, reviews make me ridiculously happy .

* * *

**Derek Reese**: Look, John, what can happen to a person inside four walls... screws with your head; makes you do things you never thought you'd do.  
**John Connor**: Some people never give up. Some people always fight.  
**Derek Reese**: Fewer than you think.

* * *

**Sarah Connor**: I never wanted you to see that tape. I was gonna destroy it. But since you did, did you notice the date? The date on the tape. June 8, 1997. Do you know that date?  
**John Connor**: I do now. It's the date you gave up being my mother.

* * *

"Where's my son? I want to see my son."

She'd been saying this, or variations of this, ever since she woke up in the hospital. More accurately, Sarah woke up, tried to escape, and was quickly wrestled to the ground by three policemen and an orderly. Her gunshot wound tore open and bleed like hell, and they held her down long enough to stick a needle in her leg. She'd managed to kick the man who injected her square in the face before passing out. It was later that she'd asked about John, after she woke up again and they told her that the doctor she'd assaulted was going to need a dentist.

"He's safe, Sarah. Your son is safe."

Silberman gave the same answer he always did, the same as the cops and the lawyers and all of them. Sarah sat at the table in the tiny white room and stared coldly at the shrink she hadn't seen in nearly a decade. "John isn't safe. John's never safe. No one is."

The shrink smiled in a way that was maybe meant to be kind. "Why is that, Sarah? Why do you say that?"

Sarah fought the urge to leap across the table and throttle him. She'd already yelled and screamed when they first brought her in here, and all that got her was another needle. Presently, she sat forward in her tiny, uncomfortable chair, regarding Silberman. She recalled the police station, listening to Kyle rant and rave at the doctor. He'd looked crazy then, just as Sarah must look crazy now. Since they'd carted her off to the loony bin, the appearance of craziness was pretty much a given.

"Please," she entreated, deliberating making herself pitiful. "No one will tell me where he is. I need to know where he is."

"Why?" asked the doctor. "So you can find him after you escape?"

_Yes. That. _Silberman's clinical neutrality angered Sarah more than if he'd been sarcastic or smug. "I'm worried about him."

The doctor sighed like someone giving in to an annoyingly persistent child. "He's with a foster family. They're good people, Sarah. He's being taken care of."

He wasn't telling her anything she didn't know already. She wanted specifics, and it frustrated her that he wasn't giving. Sarah closed her eyes and fought for control. Reese had seemed crazy at the police station. _She _would seem crazy if she kept behaving like Kyle. Silberman was there in 1984, he had to realize that she wasn't crazy then. Sarah thought that with what he'd seen, what he knew, she might be able to turn him, convince him of the truth. Doubtful, but better than having a staring contest with the man, or having someone bring out another needle.

"Sarah? I asked you before. Why are you so anxious about John?"

Sarah scoffed. She couldn't help it. She hadn't been 'anxious' since before she'd met this guy. Anxious was nowhere near a strong enough word for what she was. "Do you have children, Dr. Silberman?"

He blinked. In their brief time together, Sarah had rarely bothered responding to him "No, no I don't."

Sarah was relieved. She'd expected the answer, but she was still relieved. No kid should be stuck with this man as a parent. "If you did, you'd understand that a majority of your time is spent being _anxious _over your kids."

"True enough. The question, Sarah, is whether _your _anxieties are founded. The levels of your parental concern, are they realistic, are they healthy."

"You don't have children."

"No, Sarah."

"Then who are you to judge whether my parental concerns are realistic?" This was wrong. She was supposed to convince him, not fall into another verbal sparring match. She couldn't help it. She didn't hate him, but he was the physical representation of her captivity. And he infuriated her even more than the police who shot her down, eventually leading to that captivity.

Taking a breath, Sarah forced a calm she didn't feel. She employed the tone she'd used on her mother when trying to convince the woman that letting her daughter stay late at a party with lots of boys and no parents was a good idea. Calm. Sane. Rational. "Listen to me."

"Of course, Sarah. That's what I'm here for."

Sarah refrained from rolling her eyes. She told him what she'd already told him several times. About Reese, the machine, John, the war. Silberman watched her intently, as if he hadn't heard it before. When she was finished, Sarah folded her hands together on the table. Like a teacher who'd finished explaining a complicated math problem to a hard-working, yet incredibly slow student. "I didn't believe him either at first-"

"Reese, you mean."

Sarah shut her eyes tight. He asked stupid questions just to goad her, there was no other explanation. "Yes, Reese. But then I did believe him. Because that _thing _didn't give me a choice."

"You're referring to the man who-"

"I'm referring to the _thing_ that shot two innocent women because they had my name. The thing that drove into a cop-shop and killed a bunch of innocent men, all so it could get to me. Why would it do that?"

"People have been known to do things we can't explain-"

"It wasn't a _person. _It was a machine, a thing that was not human. How else did it tear through a police station without at least one cop getting a headshot and putting it down?" Silberman's expression didn't change. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Sarah counted to five and tried not to lose it. "Assume it was a man. Assume he was just a crazy guy hopped up on something, who had more luck than is humanly possible. Where did Reese fit in? Why protect me, why would he know to do that? Why would he show up to save my life?"

"As I understand it, he dragged you from a club, led you on a highly dangerous car chase-"

"Silberman…" Patience had never been Sarah's virtue, and the shrink was burning through what little she had on reserve. "Answer me something. When you met me then, did I seem crazy to you? Crazier than the typical nineteen-year-old?"

"Sarah, there's no denying that you suffered a very traumatic ordeal, and trauma does things to the mind. Have you ever heard of Stockholm syndrome?"

Sarah didn't answer immediately. She was counting to five for the third time in thirty seconds.. "You think I turned into Patty Hearst."

"I didn't say that. However, victims have been known to develop sympathy for their abductors. It's not uncommon for delusions to-"

"Kyle Reese was dead two days after he supposedly abducted me. I think we can both agree that he didn't seem terribly persuasive on that first night. Must've really improved his pitch between then and the next night. When that thing you call a man murdered him."

It wasn't going to work. Silberman would never believe. Unless one of the machines stormed in here and killed her in front of him, always a distinct possibility. The conversation dragged on, him asking stupid questions that he'd never hear the answers to. Her attempts at not sounding insane hadn't done the job.

Sarah had tried the calm, cool, collected thing with her mother, when she really wanted something. Usually, the approach worked no better on Mom than it had on Silberman. With Mom, there was usually a shouting match involved somewhere. With Silberman, it was one-sided. Sarah shouting, Silberman shouting for the guards. Mom usually wound up grounding her. Silberman ordered that she be taken to her room and tied to the bed. More often than not, the young Sarah Connor would climb out her bedroom window, sneaking off to do whatever Mom had forbidden her to do. That wouldn't be so easy now, but Sarah was determined enough not to care. Easy or not, she would leave this place and get to her son.

* * *

"Congrats, Connor. You set a new record around here."

Sarah kept up her one-armed pushups, not looking up when Stymes entered her room.

"Come on," the orderly declared, snapping his fingers. "You got the record for most times trying to bust out, so we got to reward you for it.

Halting the exercise, Sarah got to her feet and stared at him. He was holding a tiny plastic cup something she hadn't noticed on his arrival. "Really. So I get a prize?"

"Indeed you do," he replied, thrusting the cup at her.

She looked without taking, noting the assortment of colored tablets. "Candy?" she drawled.

"Please. Like you aint hyper enough without the excuse. Meds. Take them like a good girl so I can get over to the vending machines."

"Meds," she repeated mildly. "Who says I need medication?"

"Who do you think, Houdini?"

"But I'm not sick."

Stymes snorted. "State of California says different, and Doc Silberman says we got to calm you down somehow."

Sarah shrugged innocently. "I am calm. Do I not look calm to you?"

The big man in the white uniform smirked. "Right now, sure. Next week, when you try checking out again? Next week is what we're worried about."

"You worried about me Stymes? How sweet."

"Yeah. We all worry about you, Connor. We love you. We want you here for a long time."

Stymes laughed and Sarah didn't. It hadn't taken her long to realize that it wasn't just ignorance with Silberman. Ignorance had its part, but it was small compared to the other one. She was his favorite, the pet project that would make his career. The one that he'd wanted Kyle Reese to be back in '84. If Silberman had his way, Sarah would never get out of here. At least until the good doctor had published a few books and won a few prizes.

"Come on, Connor, game's on in five minutes."

"Is it? How about I come out there and watch with you?"

"How about you take your fucking pills so I can get the fuck out of here. "

"Well since you asked nicely…"

Sarah didn't like drugs, and she didn't like Stymes. He had to get two of his friends to help her take the drugs. It took a couple tries. Sarah took great pleasure in spitting the capsules into the eyes of her tormentors. Eventually, they got the pills down her throat. Unfortunately for them, the medication was a daily thing. And if she had to take a bunch of crap that left her exhausted and lethargic, she was going to leave them sufficiently exhausted as well.

Despite how much Stymes claimed to love her, he quit a week into Sarah's new drug regimen, after the woman came dangerously close to dislocating his arm. Sarah liked his replacement. His replacement didn't pay attention, didn't notice when Sarah only pretended to swallow her meds. Sarah liked being vigilant, and sometimes she liked people who _weren't _very vigilant.

* * *

The new guy's name was Walt, and Sarah quickly figured out that Walt wasn't as clueless as she'd thought. He let her get away with skipping the meds, and somehow he was never around when she got angry and started hitting. A month into his employment, she spit the pills into her hand, right in front of him. She did it to test a theory. Said theory was proven when Walt shrugged, casually crossing his arms over his chest.

"Why are you doing this?" Sarah asked, trapped between curiosity and suspicion.

Walt shrugged again. "You don't want to take them, I'm not going to force it?"

"Isn't that your job?"

"It's not my main job," he replied sardonically. "My main job's to stay alive at this dump long enough for something else to show up. I treat you right, you treat me right. What say you?"

Sarah regarded him carefully. So he wasn't acting out of stupidity or laziness or some bizarre desire to be nice. He was simply looking out for himself. That was good. "Long as you stay out of my way."

"Don't I always?" he asked, leaving before she could respond.

Sarah began to like Walt, after she knew what his strategy was. He did stay out of her way, but he also did other things. He would smuggle her books, magazines. When he offered her the last cigarette in his pack, she almost hugged him.

"You're welcome. I'm wondering though. If we're all going to die, why use the cancer sticks to speed things along?"

She'd picked up smoking after John was born. Not one of her better habits, but oh well. She blew a smoke ring, deliberately facing away from Walt as she did it. "Makes me feel better. Since we're all dead anyway, might as well feel a little better while we're waiting."

"Logical," Walt replied without a hint of sarcasm.

They developed a routine. He came in to deliver the meds she wouldn't take, and they spared a few minutes for small talk.

"Walt," she offered, a month into this routine. "How's Disneyland today?"

"Fucking magical. Am I going to burn up today?"

"There's time yet." Not a lot, but some.

"Good to know. Hey, guess what?"

"I don't want to."

"Brenda, my wife, she's pregnant."

He was grinning so hard Sarah thought it might split his face. She tried not to think of what would happen to Walt's kid, what he'd have to live through. But maybe he _would _live, maybe Walt would, too. Maybe they'd join up with John, and Sarah would be there, and she'd pull Walt aside and say hey, told you so. Every day for months and months, did I not tell you? Then John would walk over and tell her to lay off. Sarah closed her eyes and tried not to think about John.

"Aw fuck. Sorry Sarah."

He knew about her son. Everyone here did. She grit her teeth and forced a smile. "No. Congratulations."

"Thanks. Didn't mean to make you sad."

"You didn't. Want to pretend you did and make it up to me?"

The grin that had faltered before came back in a hurry. "What do you want?"

"Have a smoke with me. We'll pretend that I'm toasting your kid."

"I can do that."

* * *

"So" Silberman began. "I noticed you've been calmer lately."

Sarah nodded, utterly disinterested. "Do I get a sticker for good behavior?"

The doctor sighed. His elbows were on the table and his fingers were steepled in front of him. "How are those books Campbell's been sneaking you?"

Campbell. She'd almost forgotten that Walt had a last name. "Some good, some bad. Apparently he hasn't been sneaking them all that well."

Silberman hummed, neutral as always. "We've known for sometime what he was doing."

"Good for you. You firing him?"

Silberman leaned back in his chair and stared at her. "He's leaving. Gave notice today. Apparently we don't pay him enough."

Sarah was surprised to find that she actually cared a little. "So you know I broke the rules? What now, ground me without dinner?"

"Campbell's expecting. His wife is, I should say."

Right. Sarah really needed him to clarify that. "I knew. Good for him."

Silberman tilted his head quizzically. "And how does that make _you _feel, Sarah?"

"Good for him," repeated the brunette.

"It doesn't make you think about John?"

Sarah clenched her hand on the edge of the table. "Everything makes me think about John. You going to take away my books?"

She knew the answer before voicing the question. He wouldn't, not when it kept her quiet for a few hours each day. Later, Walt came in and told her he was quitting. She said she was happy for him, that she'd miss him. She told the truth on both counts.

* * *

The new guy was not like Walt, nor was he like Stymes. Stymes had been an asshole, but that was all. Walt was a decent man with a sense of self-preservation. Preiter was a sadist who had a bit of power. He loved a job most people would hate, he got off on it. Preiter always made sure that Sarah took her pills.

They were different now, different colors, different sizes, different doses. Silberman was always tinkering, searching for that one magical combo that would do the job. The newest batch was intense. It was the newest batch that screwed with her dreams, made her see Kyle for the first time.

"You're not real," Sarah declared, even as her voice trembled and she tried to reach for him. "You're not here." Deep down, she'd feared forgetting Kyle, forgetting those kind, handsome . features. Apparently those fears were groundless.

Kyle snagged her wrists, drawing them together so she wouldn't be able to touch him. "It's the drugs. That's all it is."

She nodded. She'd known that already, in some far off part of her brain.

"You have to get out of here," Kyle ordered.

Sarah nodded again. She knew that, too. Bur right now she didn't care. Kyle was so _clear _right now, so _whole. _She could feel his hands on her wrists, even though that was impossible. "Reese…" She kept trying to get closer and he kept stopping her.

"_Listen._ Sarah. You need to get out of here. Don't listen to them. Don't listen to _him_."

"Silberman? I never listen to Silberman."

"But you will. If you don't get out soon, you will."

* * *

"You know Sarah, therapy works better if you actually talk."

"I'm tired. Talking works better when you're not tired."

"Oh? Nightmares?"

"Sure," Sarah lied, even though nightmares wasn't anything close to what they were.

"I'd hoped the new medication would've kicked in by now. Ah well, I came in early today, I guess both of us will just have to tough our way through it."

He smiled encouragingly. Sarah would've punched him if she'd had the energy.

"Come on, Sarah. We're here, we might as well make the best of it. What do you say?"

Sarah scowled, imagining what she'd do if the guards weren't flanking the door.

"There's nothing you want to talk about? Nothing you want to discuss?"

She'd been silent a lot recently, more so then usual. She glanced at the camera, hanging from a corner in the room. Then she looked at Silberman again. The frustration was leaking through his professional mask. He wasn't getting new material for his articles or his book, and it pissed him off. "Do you have any inkblots?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Those inkblot tests I used to see on TV. Stare at the big glob of ink and tell me what you see. Those things."

Silberman raised his eyebrows. "Yes, I'm familiar with the concept. Are you interested in those?"

The brunette shrugged nonchalantly. "Curious."

They did the test, Silberman practically jubilant that she'd taken an interest in something other than trying to attack one of the nurses and steal her uniform. He held up the first card.

The black glob looked like nothing to her, other than a black glob. Sarah tilted her head this way and that, squinting as if she was concentrating. "A robot," she said decisively.

Silberman held up the next card without commenting on her assessment.

"Robot," Sarah declared, repeating her earlier routine.

"A robot. The same one as before?"

Of course. In her nightmares, it was always the same one. "Of course not. This one's bigger."

Silberman held up another card.

"Robot," said Sarah, nodding with the power of her convictions.

Silberman was glaring at her and trying not to. He held up another card.

Sarah took the longest on this one. Messing with Silberman served no purpose, but she was still recovering from injuries incurred during the last escape attempt. Preiter's nightstick hadn't sped up the healing process. In short, she was stuck, and messing with Silberman was all she could do for now.

"A horse," Sarah declared, still examining the last card.

Silberman's mask fell away. He looked genuinely surprised.

"No wait, hang on." Sarah pretended to contemplate the picture further. "It's a horse that looks like a robot."

Kyle came again that night. Told her to stop wasting time, told her she needed to leave. As if she didn't realize that. So easy for him to bark orders, he wasn't the one trapped here. Everything was easier when you were dead.

* * *

Silberman slid a photo across the table. It was wallet-sized, and he kept it facedown. When she didn't turn it over, he did the job himself.

Sarah's breath caught in her throat. John was staring up at her, looking sullen and annoyed. She hadn't seen his face since the pictures in the newspapers, right after she got arrested. Composure meant nothing to her at that moment. Sarah grabbed the photo and clutched it like a lifeline.

"He's a handsome young man. Has your eyes, doesn't he?"

Sarah ignored him. She ran her eyes over every detail, every line. She wasn't thinking about how Kyle had done the same with her photo for years and years.

Silberman stayed quiet for several moments. When he spoke again his voice was gentle, but not gentle enough to disguise what was underneath. "I'm going to need that picture back."

Sarah heard him and pretended not to. John's hair was longer. The photo showed him from the shoulders up, but he had to be taller now. She'd been stuck here far longer than she ever anticipated.

"I'll need it back," the doctor reiterated. "It belongs to his parents."

Sarah's head snapped up fast enough to pop something in her neck. Aghast, she registered the hint of a smirk on Silberman's face. "What the _fuck _are you talking about?" Sarah hissed.

"Excuse me, _foster _parents. Lovely couple. From what I hear, John seems quite happy there."

Sarah glanced at the picture. John _seemed _ready to punch whoever was holding the camera.

"You don't agree that he seems happy?"

"I wouldn't know. You won't let me see him."

"Sarah, you know that's for your own good. John's as well. From the picture, you don't agree that he seems happy?"

She stared at the photo and murmured a reply, talking more to herself than to him. "John's never been happy." That wasn't completely true, there were moments of contentment. For the most part though, it was the truth. John had never been happy, not in the general definition of the word. A mother like her, a childhood like his, what else could be expected?

"Why is that, Sarah? Why wasn't your son happy?"

Christ. "Why don't you look over your notes from the last fifty times I answered that question?"

Silberman ignored that. "Who or what's to blame for his unhappiness? Is his unhappiness linked to yours?"

The questions were old and tired, but the picture was new. It spoke of something different, a new plan on Silberman's part. Sarah answered to keep him happy, so she could put off fighting him tooth and nail for the picture. "Yes, John's unhappiness is linked to mine."

"How so?" Are you the cause?"

"No."

"No. No you're not the cause of John's unhappiness?"

"That's right."

"Then who is?"

"I don't know. Get me the name of whoever dreamed up the computer and you'll get your answer."

Silberman shook his head, exuding disappointment. "Sarah, we have to acknowledge the things we do."

"And I've never denied any of mine."

"What about John's life, such as it was? Will you acknowledge your part in that?"

He was playing with her. More so than usual. Poking an animal with a stick to get a reaction. Setting the picture on the table, Sarah covered it with her left hand. She hadn't hated Silberman in the beginning, hadn't hated him for a long time in fact. She hated him now, almost as much as the machines. "You know nothing about my son's life. You refuse to know anything about his life, or mine."

"That's not true, I want to understand."

"I know exactly what you want," snarled the brunette. She glanced at the camera hanging up in the corner. Silberman would probably use this footage in a documentary someday. "You're pathetic. You think your career will matter after the bombs drop? You'll be ashes, and my only regret is that I won't be here to watch you burn."

Silberman gazed at her blandly, tapping his finger on the table. "I think that's enough for today. Give me the picture, Sarah."

Sarah snatched up the photo. "Fuck you, you stupid son of a bitch."

Silberman sighed, as if he'd been expecting that. He motioned towards the guards at the door, and Sarah belatedly realized there were more of them than usual. So he _had _been expecting it.

Preiter was among the guards. He took great pleasure in cracking her over the head with his nightstick and putting his elbow into her face. He was the one who tore John's picture out of Sarah's grasp, right before the needle did its usual magic. Despite Silberman's insistence that the picture be returned, Sarah noticed that he didn't comment when Preiter tore it in half. John's face being ripped apart was the last thing she saw before losing consciousness.

Later, Kyle came again. "It's a game to him Sarah, and you're letting him win. You're letting him get to you."

"That's not true."

Dream-Kyle knelt before her dream cot, resting his forehead against hers. "Don't lie to me," he admonished gently.

Sarah wrapped her arms around him. She'd never been able to do that before. "Kyle," she sobbed, kissing his face, neck, chin, anywhere she could reach. "Jesus Kyle. I miss you."

He pulled away from her, the kind eyes she remembered tinged with anger and worry. "I know you do. There are more important things to say. Silberman's playing his game and you're letting him. He's using me against you."

"What?"

"The drugs."

"I don't have a choice, they force-"

"You're not fighting hard enough! You're using the drugs to see me, and you have to stop."

"I'm not-"

"_Stop _lying, Sarah. They're using me against you, John too. You're starting to believe what Silberman tells you. Don't play his game. Change the rules and get out of here before you do something stupid."

* * *

Sarah hadn't believed Kyle when he talked about the drugs. She was not that weak. She was not that desperate for a version of her dead lover. The drugs left her tired and screwed up, but she did her best to avoid taking them. Kyle just didn't understand how difficult things were. When Sarah did see him, all Reese ever did was spout off useless pep talks. He never said the important stuff, always disappeared before she herself could say it. So really, what reason would she have to allow herself to be drugged?

The drugs were in her system tonight. She was fuzzy and exhausted and dreaming quite vividly. She was back in a motel with Reese, marveling at the fact that there hadn't been someone before her. She also marveled at his contradictions. Outside of this bed, he was strong and confident. Now he was still strong, but he was being so careful. And he was so unsure of himself, allowing her to take the lead for the first time since they met…

Sarah jolted awake, only to fall back on the cot when Preiter slammed her across the face. She was already messed up from the drugs, even before he jammed another syringe into her thigh. Sarah cursed herself for not hearing him.

She knew what he wanted even before he put a hand over her mouth and told her to relax. She bit him and he swore quietly, and then two more orderlies came in. She was surprised to see them. Preiter she'd expected this from. He was the one who got off on his job, on his little bit of power. But the other two were truly a surprise. They kept her still while Preiter got the blood off his hand, and then one of them took their turn. Sarah wanted to scream bloody murder, but there were hands on her mouth and throat, and her throat seemed to have closed up anyway. Whatever was in that syringe had made her muscles rigid and useless.

The irony of her dream wasn't lost on Sarah as the three men took their turns. Kyle was now the last thing on her mind. She wondered why no one was noticing this. It was the middle of the night, but there were still people, still cameras. Then she remembered, glancing up into the darkest corner of her cell. The camera was useless. She'd busted it herself during a fit of rage the night before.

She was bleeding afterwards and they forced her to clean up, throwing her a new set of pants. They'd gotten there payback for countless cuts and bruises, and they were satisfied. They left her huddled on her little cot. She wanted to offer a parting remark, specifically a promise to kill them all long before Judgment Day, but her mouth wouldn't open.

Later, she thought about the blood on her thighs, thought about how she'd been Kyle's first, and then she fell asleep. She didn't remember it happening, but she must've drifted off, because suddenly Kyle was knelt before the bed, holding tightly to her hands. If not for the fucked up nature of her existence, Sarah might've thought he was proposing.

"Sarah," he murmured, pulling her against him. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Sarah."

She nodded, resting her head on his shoulder without crying. "Don't be. My fault."

"No!" he refuted, pulling away far enough to look her in the eye. "No, Sarah."

She put her fingers to his lips. "Yes, Reese. But it's okay. I promise its okay." It _was _her fault. She _hadn't _fought hard enough about the drugs. If she had, she would've heard Preiter open the door. It was okay though. She'd been here a good long time, longer than she would've expected to be, and this was the first time.

"Not the first," Kyle argued, as if he'd read her thoughts.

He nuzzled her cheek and she let him, wondering why this was what it took to get a little affection from her hallucinations. "First time here," she murmured, thinking of back alleys in foreign places, before she knew enough to take care of herself.

Reese sucked in a breath and began rocking them back and forth. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

"Don't," Sarah ordered, kissing the stubble on his chin. Distantly, it occurred to her that she really was crazy. She was on a cot in a mental hospital, rocking back and forth, talking to a dead man. That seemed to fit the usual definition of crazy.

Kyle stopped apologizing. "I love you. I love you. I love you so much."

It was the thing she'd wanted to hear again, for so long now. He kept saying it until she was crying, until she was actually pulling away from him, actually begging him to stop because it was too much.

He didn't stop. She cried and kept crying, but he didn't stop.

* * *

"Sarah, be reasonable about this."

"Fuck you."

Silberman rubbed his temple. "All we're asking is that you meet with him, consider-"

"If they want him, why not take him?"

"I've told you, they need your permission-"

"Well then they're shit out of luck, aren't they?"

"Sarah…"

"John is my _son_," she argued through gritted teeth. "And I will rot in the ground before that changes."

"They're good people, Sarah. If you'd just-"

"Fine, they're good people. Tell them to bring John here and we'll have a chat. Old parent meets new parent."

"They care about your son. They can-"

"They can't do anything," the woman snapped. "They don't know a thing about what they're dealing with. They won't have a chance when-"

"When what? When another machine from the future comes to get him?"

"Yes."

"Of course. And in all the time you've been here, all the time he's been vulnerable, has that happened?"

Sarah said nothing.

"Has anyone _ever _come for your son? His location is on record with the state, he's been with this same family for awhile now. So why haven't they come for him yet, these machines?"

"They will."

"Why?"

"Because of who he is."

"And what about you? Did you ever wonder why you, a waitress would be the one to raise this future savior of mankind?"

Every day of her life. "I'm his mother. I'm the only one that can protect him."

"From in here? Hard to be a mother from in here."

Sarah didn't say a word.

"Despite your numerous efforts, you're still here, Sarah. Maybe that should tell you something. Maybe you're here because you need to be."

For a long time, Sarah remained silent. Then, "Tell those nice people of yours to find another poor little orphan boy. John is _my _son."

Silberman had brought some papers with him, more than usual. He pushed a stapled packet towards her. "You might want to look at these."

Sarah did. They were reports from a social worker, John's. Names and addresses had been blacked out, but the rest was intact. Transcripts of conversations, some dated quite far back. Sarah read them all, read how John had told shrinks and state workers and various other people that his mother was a fucking lunatic. That she was crazy, that he had no desire to see her. And that he'd be happy not to see her ever again.

* * *

She was losing track of time. She couldn't afford that, but she couldn't help it either. The days blurred together, as they had since she found out what John thought of her. Sarah knew it shouldn't affect her this much, but it did. She'd always had that one person who believed her. Even if it was John, even if he'd only bought it because he knew no better, he'd always been that one person. And somehow, Sarah had nursed a belief for almost three years, a belief that she'd get out, that John would run to her with open arms when that day finally came. Now she knew better. If anything, John would run screaming in the other direction.

The idea of getting out was almost beyond her comprehension. She'd tried so many times, and there was so little time left. And John didn't believe her.

_So make him. Get out and prove it._

The voice in her head sounded remarkably like Kyle's, even though she hadn't dreamed of him in a long time. Even he had abandoned her.

_Come on, soldier. Quit wallowing and do something._

She wasn't a soldier. She was an ex-waitress in a mental hospital with a son who hated the mention of her name.

_You're letting this place win, you're letting Silberman win. I told you-_

She ordered the voice that sounded like Kyle's to shut the fuck up. Even if she could get out, there was barely any time left. They'd all burn soon enough, assuming she was not actually crazy. And Sarah was starting to doubt even that.

_You can't doubt, Sarah. You know what happened, you know-_

She made Reese shut up again. If he had to die on her, the least he could do was grant her peace when she wanted it.

_Peace is a luxury, Sarah. There _are _no luxuries_.

And what kind of life was that? What kind of life for her son? Maybe the foster parents really did love him. If they adopted him, he'd likely take their name and be rid of hers as soon as he could. If she wasn't crazy, if the machines did come, they might not find him under another name. John Connor wouldn't exist, and he wouldn't have to lead the resistance, and Sarah would have fulfilled the promise she made while he was still inside her.

_No. You're being weak. You can't afford to be weak._

Maybe she was being weak. Maybe she was weak and tired and crazy and the worst mother that ever lived. And maybe, just maybe, she was beyond the point of caring.

* * *

She didn't speak when the DCFS guy showed up. He had a briefcase and papers, and he was telling her how easy it would be to let go of her son. Sign on the line, all parental rights will be terminated.

That last word gave her pause. Kyle was in her head, telling her not to fuck up like this. She ignored him, signing her name on the line.

It took too long for her to realize her mistake. She didn't figure it out until the door slammed shut, and the man and his briefcase were gone. She thought about the papers in that case, the signature on the papers. At various times in the last twelve years, Sarah had come to hate her own name. She'd hated the burden of it, the responsibility. She'd never hated it as much as she did in that moment.

Sarah thought about sprinting for the door. Chasing the man down and ripping those papers to bits. It wouldn't work, she saw that clearly. She saw things clearly now for the first time in quite awhile. She couldn't take the papers back, couldn't erase the act itself. But she could get John. She could and would get her son back, and she'd spend whatever time was left repenting. Repenting for his lousy life, for her absence from it, and most of all for this. This moment, that she'd give almost anything to take back.


End file.
